Date: Mon, 26 May 2003 21:05:18 -0400
From: John Ellison
Subject: The Phantom Of Aurora: Chapter 11
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons
alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance
to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.
This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions,
customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to
remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back
then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the
bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not
continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right
and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also
contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or
hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you
some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible
Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly
irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever
cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.
As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual
nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If
your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are
not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature,
or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.
This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex
is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts
without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.
I will respond to all e-mails (except flames).
On a personal note I am pleased to let my readers know that my manuscript
for Phantom has been accepted by a publisher. I will keep you informed as
things develop.
The Phantom of Aurora: Chapter 11
As the band thumped out the nautical air the cadets clambered up the
ladders and onto the jetty, there to begin the age-old ritual of all
sailors being welcomed home from the sea. There was much handshaking and
back slapping as the cadets greeted each other, the officers, and The
Phantom's parents. Then came the obligatory photographs. Everyone seemed to
have a camera of some description and the crews were photographed as a
group, then as an individual crew, always with the underwear dressed whaler
masts as a backdrop, then with the Commanding Officer, then with Number
One, then the officers as a group, the constant clicking of cameras
sounding like a convention of very drunken crickets.
Once the photographing had finished individual groups broke off, greeting
their friends. Sandro, Joey and Randy thumped The Phantom on the back and
his butt. It was impossible to answer the questions that came thick and
fast. The Phantom broke away and went to where his parents were waiting
patiently to greet him. They both embraced him. "Jeez, Mum, Dad, I've only
been away two days, not two years," The Phantom exclaimed as he tried, but
failed, to wriggle free. His mother held him closer and kissed his cheek.
"Phantom you look, so, so dishevelled!" Mrs. Lascelles smiled as she
stroked her son's face.
Taking the path of least resistance The Phantom returned his mother's kiss
and said with a laugh, "Well, I have been away sailing for two days, and we
slept on the beach, but we did stop at Miracle Beach for a shower. Of
course we only had so much clothing with us and there was no place to wash
what we had, except Powell River and Two Strokes, I mean, Roger, he took
all our clothes to a Laundromat and washed them for us, but we didn't have
an iron."
"Phantom, stop while you're ahead," Chief Lascelles said, laughing. "Unless
you want to explain to your mother exactly why your underpants are flying
in the breeze."
"Oh, that. Well, we wanted to look good coming in, so we decided to Dress
Ship." The Phantom managed to free himself from his parents embrace. "In
the Sea Cadets you have to make do with what you have."
The Phantom's father put his arm around his son's shoulder and walked him
back to the moored whalers. "I thought you weren't a Sea Cadet?" he asked
quietly.
"In a way I'm not, but in a way I am." The Phantom leaned and whispered,
"I'll tell you later," The he grinned. There were certain details of his
induction into the Sea Cadets that he thought it best his mother did not
hear about. "Right now I have to help unload and square away the boats."
With that The Phantom clambered down the ladder and into the whaler where
he began helping Cory to pass the jumbled gear up to Todd.
Ray, much to his embarrassment, was enveloped in Chef's huge arms. Chef,
who was dressed in a pair of shorts so huge that they looked like a circus
tent, and a slightly soiled singlet, demanded to know how Ray was, what he
had done, and what the hell is that? Ray looked down at the fading, very
minor burn mark. "I dropped a roasted potato on my leg," Ray said
hurriedly, thinking it wise not to inform Chef that he'd been naked when he
dropped the potato. "The Gunner put some stuff on it. It doesn't hurt."
Chef looked at him doubtfully. "I don't know, Ray. Maybe you should see
Doc."
"Christ Chef, it's only a roast potato burn. It could have been worse!" Ray
grinned impishly. "I could have dropped in on my crotch."
"A fate much to be avoided!" agreed Chef, wincing. "Good job you had your
shorts on."
"Uh, yeah, Chef, good job I did," lied Ray. "So, how did the Makee-Learns
work out? Not too much damage?"
Before Chef could reply Randy, Joey and Sandro joined the pair. They all
had a group hug. "Nice tan, Ray," said Joey as he ran his hand up Ray's
arm. "You look real good."
Ray chuckled and ruffled Joey's hair. "So did you and Randy when you
waggled your wieners at us as we passed the beach. You two barracks
stanchions shouldn't go around waving your wieners like that. You might get
them all sunburned and there's nothing worse than a sunburned wiener."
Both Joey and Randy blushed and squirmed. "Well, Jon said we could do it,
and he did it, too," replied Randy with a giggle.
Harry, who had overheard the conversation between the cooks, turned to Jon,
who had come up from the beach. He gave Jon a cuff. "What are you doing,
showing your dick to them innocent children?" he demanded loudly. "You
trying to corrupt them?"
Jon opened his mouth to reply but before he could utter a syllable Two
Strokes interrupted. "Corrupting the Sea Puppies is Harry's job!" he hooted
loudly.
Harry's hand hovered over Two Stroke's crotch. "What did I tell you?" he
threatened.
"Gunner says my dick is safe. You can't rip it off." Two Strokes smiled
smugly.
"He didn't say anything about your tiny balls!" growled Harry, a dangerous
glint in his eye.
Two Strokes flushed and took off at a rate of knots to help with the
unloading.
Mark and Tony greeted Tyler and Val with great glee. Both the American boys
were wearing tight, beige, USN swimming shorts, and chest hugging white
T-shirts. "How was it?" Tony asked Val.
"Oh, man! It was great. I mean, just great," enthused Val. "From almost the
time we left we never had . . ."
Tyler coughed a warning. "Say, Mark, why don't you and Tony come alongside
after we finish here?" he interjected quickly. He looked pointedly at his
roommate.
"We can tell Mark our war stories in the Mess."
"Hey, that's a good idea," agreed Val. "Come down to the Gunroom. We
shouldn't be too long."
"You still have some of that Italian champagne?" Tony asked Val, referring
to Val's bottle of grappa.
"About half a bottle," replied Val. He grinned widely. "Enough for a couple
of good war stories."
"How about we give you guys a hand, then we can all go to the Mess
together," Mark offered.
"Ah, no need for that," said Tyler jumping into the whaler.
"No problem, guy. Besides, I want to talk to you about your new uniform."
Mark joined Tyler in the boat and began handing up some sleeping bags to
Tony. "I told my mother and she wants to know if maybe you'd let me have my
picture taken wearing it."
"I guess it's okay. It's okay by me. Uniforms I loan out. You supply your
own underwear. Briefs or boxers, your choice."
******
The Gunner's hand was shaken enthusiastically and his back slapped by
Father, who wanted to know all the details. "You look wonderful, and the
lads look as if they've just returned from a successful rape and pillage,
all smiles and suntans." The Commanding Officer was positively bubbly.
"Everything went great," replied The Gunner. "No trouble, fair winds and
following seas all the way out, and all the way back."
"Good show!" laughed Number One. "The lads here had a wonderful time. Chef
has practically lived here, and his two Makee-Learns performed yeoman
service. The lads spent the day in town yesterday, civvies, no uniforms,
and had a super time. No one got arrested."
"That we know of," interjected Father with a smile. "At least we've had no
request for bail money and Fred assures me that all the cadets are on
board."
"Last night the boys held a Sod's Opera. Absolutely no one was safe, not
even you," grinned Number One.
"I expect they took the mickey?" asked The Gunner, arching an eyebrow. In a
Sod's Opera no one, and no thing was safe.
Number One nodded. "They did, yes, but they were not cruel. Mostly marching
about in hobnailed boots - wherever they found them I don't know - and
issuing orders to each other. I must say that Fred does a passable
impression of you!" "I shall remember to mention it to him," replied The
Gunner dryly, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Sod's operas could
be painfully cruel and horribly accurate. From the sound of it he had
gotten off easy.
"Count yourself lucky, Stephen," Father said with a smile, exposing his
tobacco stained dentures. "Nigel came in for the worst of it," he said,
confirming The Gunner's suspicions. He began to laugh. "The boys had him
down pat and my lady wife was laughing so hard I thought she'd wet
herself."
"Father!" Mrs. Commanding Officer was clearly not amused.
"Well, you said it, my dear, not I," replied the Commanding Officer calmly.
"Still, it was fun and, all in all, the lads acquitted themselves well. I
was most impressed with Fred, Jon, and young Ryan. They were all
mainstays."
"We did not miss the chiefs at all." Number One was not an easy man to
impress. "I think we had better start thinking about setting a promotion
board for them."
The Gunner nodded, wondering if promotions had been a part of the
Commanding Officer's secret plan and if ducks were being placed in a neat
row. "Harry, and the Twins as well, I think." He rubbed his chin
reflectively. I would also like you to consider Stuart and Ray, and a few
of the others."
"What say we repair to the Wardroom and discuss it? We will swing the lamp
and then chat about promotions." Father waved his hand in the general
direction of the Wardroom. "Where are Phantom's parents? Oh, there they
are. Number One, go and fetch them, please, and ask them to join us." The
Commanding Officer gave his wife his arm and as they strolled toward the
Wardroom he turned to The Gunner. "I suppose I shall have no one to blame
but myself if I promote the Twins and Harry. They'll be wanting Number 11
uniforms, and where we shall ever get one big enough to fit that moose,
Harry, I'm sure I don't know."
"Not to worry, sir," replied The Gunner with a sly smile. "I have friends
in low places."
******
Eventually the jetty cleared as the whalers were unloaded and the crews
carried the gear back to Stores, the Ropewalk, or Boatswain Stores. Val and
Tyler, together with Mark and Tony, had lumbered off, laden with sails and
masts. Todd, as loaded down as miner's pack mule, carried as much of the
small bags and carryalls as he could manage to the Gunroom. The band had
packed up and retired to the School of Wind, taking Harry with them. The
other cadets went off to the swimming beach, or to the canteen.
Cory was alone, squaring away the loose lines that always seemed to be
overlooked when he heard a hearty voice. "Hi. Need some help?" the voice
asked. Cory looked up to see a young man standing on the jetty. He had a
long, oval, firm-jawed face set with flaming sapphire eyes. His black hair
curled invitingly over his high, wide brow. His smooth, broad, muscled
chest was set with two tiny light brown nipples centred in pale pink
aureoles, and tapered to a firm waist. His well-muscled legs and thighs
descended from a pair of wide, dark blue, shorts. Cory noticed that the
boy's shoulders and arms were liberally sprinkled with freckles.
The boy was handsome, though not spectacularly so and while his features
were soft, they gave evidence of total masculinity. His body, while hardly
muscle bound, hinted at a contact sport, soccer, perhaps, baseball, if his
smoothly muscled legs were any indication. Football? A quarterback?
"Uh, um, no, I'm fine, thanks," mumbled Cory. He quickly averted his eyes
and tried to concentrate on the piece of line he was coiling.
The boy smiled, revealing quite good teeth. "Hell, I don't mind. I don't
have anything else to do." He was squatting down with one hand extended,
preparing to jump into the whaler.
Cory chose this moment to look up and gasped. The young man was not wearing
any underwear and Cory found himself looking directly up the legs of the
boy's shorts, made even more revealing by the boy's wide spread
legs. Directly in Cory's line of sight was possibly the most magnificent
set of upper deck fittings he had seen in a long time, almost, but not
quite, as good as Todd's and much better than anything Greg or Nicholas
possessed. From a small forest of curling and whirling, black, soft pubic
hair was a magnificently circumcised, four-inch shaft of smooth, tan and
pink skin, unmarred and ending in a classic helmet as crisp and pink as a
prairie rose. Hanging exactly as low as the stranger's sterling penis was a
smooth, velvet, hairless sac containing two perfectly shaped oval
testicles. Cory was so stunned that he began to walk backward across the
thwart, uncoiling the rope he was holding, and not paying attention to what
he was doing. His heels hit the gunwale and he lost his footing. He fell
into the harbour with a resounding splash.
"Jesus!" the young man exploded as he leaped nimbly into the whaler. Within
seconds he was reaching out to help Cory pull himself into the
whaler. "Christ, man, are you all right?" The boy smiled a warm, slightly
crooked smile.
Cory's knees buckled and the boy helped him to sit down. "I'm okay,
really," Cory gulped. "Just let me catch my breath."
The young man sat beside Cory and gave his shoulder a thump. "Be hell if
you spend two days at sea and then come back and drown in the harbour!" He
laughed quietly.
Cory nodded. "Yeah, it would be a pisser at that." He smiled
shyly. "Thanks for your help."
The young man held out his hand. "My name is Nathan. Nathan Berman. I'm not
Jewish, by the way."
Cory would not have cared if Nathan had professed to being a Druid. He
shook the proffered hand. "Cory Arundel. Thanks again"
Nathan stood up and headed for the ladder leading to the jetty. "You're
soaking wet. Come on over to the cutter. I'll lend you some dry clothes."
Cory followed, frankly admiring the view as Nathan climbed up the ladder
leading to the jetty. "Uh, no need. I live over in the Gunroom and it's not
far at all," he replied half-heartedly as he climbed the ladder.
"Don't be silly," said Nathan, brushing aside Cory's objections. "The
cutter's right here and I have plenty of dry shorts. Come on."
"So, you're American?" Cory asked as they walked the very short distance
down the jetty to where the cutter was tied up.
Nathan nodded. "Yessir, true blue and all that. I was born and bred in
Seattle." He stopped and gestured toward a wide opening in the deck of the
cutter. "Here we are. Mind the ladder," he cautioned, his voice
deep-toned. "It's a bit steep."
Cory found himself in a long, wide compartment lined with a double tier of
neatly made bunks. Against the aft bulkhead was arrayed a small tier of
lockers. The layout of the berthing deck was not all that different from
the YAGs. Nathan proceeded to the lockers and rummaged in the bottom one on
the port side. He brought out a towel and a pair of shorts. "Here, put
these on. And here's a towel to dry yourself off. I'll get you another
one." With that he disappeared forward.
Cory slid down his shorts and stepped out of them. Naked, he began
towelling his golden, sun-bleached hair. Nathan re-entered the berthing
area and stared in wonder at the magnificent, blonde haired Adonis before
him. Cory's tanned body was a gold dusted wonder, his lightly muscled chest
set with pale brown aureoles containing soft, small nipples. As he towelled
his hair his muscles rippled and his beautifully formed penis, dusty rose
becoming pale, translucent pink as it met his gloriously curving helmet,
swayed gently, caressing his sweet, low hanging, perfectly oval
testicles. Around his genitals a darker, dense, curled bush disappeared
into the fine, almost invisible pale blond hair dusting his gently muscled
legs. Cory looked up as Nathan entered, his sky-blue eyes sparkling,
setting his delicate, oval face alight.
As Cory smiled his thanks Nathan knew that this gloriously handsome young
man standing before him was the stuff that dreams are made of, the slim,
taut, golden, body an object of veneration, and an act of love with him a
rite of adoration. With almost priest-like deliberation Nathan approached
Cory and draped the towel over his slim, perfect shoulders. Nathan's eyes
shimmered.
Cory knew the look. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against
Nathan's, their kiss deeply passionate. Their lips parted and their tongues
met and entwined and as they kissed their hips ground together and Nathan's
hands found and massaged Cory's wonderfully curved ass. After what seemed
an eternity they pulled apart.
Nathan gasped. "Wow, man, I never expected that." He was wide-eyed in awe.
"We can stop, if you want." Cory did not think that he had misjudged the
look in Nathan's eye, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.
"No, no!" Nathan shook his head violently. "That's not what I meant. I
meant the kiss. Wow, fuck, where did you learn to kiss like that?"
Cory smiled coyly. "Here and there. You liked it, then?"
"Oh, Jesus, Cory. I have never been kissed like that before," breathed
Nathan.
Cory reached down and felt the rising lump in Nathan's shorts. Then he
knelt down and began licking and kissing the wonderful mound hidden under
the dark blue cotton. Nathan bucked and moaned as Cory's warm lips caressed
his now raging hardon. He moaned softly as the wetness penetrated the
cloth. Cory reached up and unsnapped Nathan's shorts, his hand found the
zipper and the shorts were an untidy pile around Nathan's ankles.
Cory had long ago learned, through trial and error, first with Todd, then
with his cousin Dermid, followed by the boys of his youth, then Chris, that
sucking a cock was an art that no female could ever master. Only a male
could gift another male with the ultimate pleasure. Only another male could
know that while deep-throating was a part of the ritualistic act of
veneration, the part of a man's dick above his circumcision line was a
sensitive sea of pleasure that only another man's tongue and lips could
navigate with the expertise needed to bring another male to screaming
orgasm. Cory slowly lowered his warm, moist mouth over the purple head of
Nathan's seven-inch, thick hardon that jutted upward at an angle from his
body.
Nathan's eyes glazed over as Cory's mouth descended down his silken,
granite shaft, sucking softly and slowly, turning left and right in a tight
spiralling motion that caused Nathan's legs to shake and his dick to
tremble as a thousand needles of delight engulfed it.
As Cory's senses savoured the muskiness that rose in small waves from
Nathan's heated groin his tongue massaged the pulsing shaft and twitching
helmet that filled his mouth. With one hand he cupped and kneaded Nathan's
swollen balls in their tightening sac. With his other hand Cory gently
stroked Nathan's tight stomach, his fingers barely tracing the treasure
trail that coursed upward from Nathan's sweat-rimed pubic bush, his fingers
caressing the warm flesh as they moved downward. Nathan moaned and spread
his legs, allowing Cory's probing hand to find and the to begin exploring
with soft deftness his smooth, hairless, velvet entrance.
Nathan groaned loudly as his muscles tensed and he thrust his hips slowly
forward, his hands reaching behind Cory's head as he tried to pull the
glorious mouth closer. Cory pulled back forcefully, his tongue savaging
Nathan's shaft just under the ridge of his glistening, spasming,
helmet-shaped glans. His hand felt Nathan's balls pulling upward.
Nathan's muscles tensed and one leg began to tremble uncontrollably as his
balls swelled and pulsed, sending him toward the pinnacle of pleasure. He
threw his head back, and through clenched teeth growled and moaned
loudly. "Ungh, aaagh . . . JeeeeSUS . . .I'm cumm . . . cumming, man. I'm
gonna cum!" he croaked.
Cory sucked harder and Nathan's enraged slit flared. A small dribble of
warm, sweet nectar flowed out, tantalizing the outraged taste buds that had
replaced Cory's tongue. Cory felt Nathan's dick swell and jerk as a huge
flow of heaven flew from Nathan's slit into Cory's throat, to be followed
by three equally large streams of teenage nectar. Cory's tongue circled
Nathan's twitching mushroom, his mouth swallowing, squeezing and sucking,
pulling every drop of the rich, thick, heavy, sperm-filled liquid until
just a few drops of the precious fluid oozed slowly across his warm, wet
tongue. Nathan groaned wildly and he went limp, his chest heaving, his flat
stomach pressing against Cory's face. He cried weakly as Cory's lips slowly
cleansed and massaged the ultra-sensitive crown of his shrinking
penis. Finally, Nathan pulled away, his softened dick flopping downward
against his descending balls.
Nathan collapsed onto the bunk behind him, his body half in and half
out. He lay on his side, his eyes closed, his dick glowing with the after
effects of a superior blowjob. When he opened his eyes he saw Cory standing
quietly, slowly fisting his gold and pink hardness, his vermeil helmet
glowing and leaking precum.
Cory smiled as Nathan sat up and held out his arms, beckoning Cory to come
to him. His arms enveloped Cory's warm, satin waist and he bent his head,
plunging his nose into Cory's groin, groaning as the warmth and odours of
delight almost overpowered him. He kissed the insides of Cory's thighs, and
he slowly rubbed his smooth cheek over and around Cory's tightening ball
sac, caressing his sleek, slim, six inches of smooth, flawless cock.
Nathan's mouth found the object of his desire and he slowly sucked Cory's
rampant organ into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of it, it's warmth
heating his tongue. Cory began moaning and slowly thrusting his hips in and
out of Nathan's anxious mouth, his balls tightening against his body. He
could feel the languid movement of Nathan's tongue slowly encircling his
helmet, probing his gaping slit. Cory began ascending into the wonderful,
overwhelming world of orgasm as his balls pumped a massive load of precum,
sending it dripping down the underside of his dick, to be swept away as
Nathan's tongue and lips caressed and fondled his trembling hardon.
Nathan whimpered and cried softly as his mouth glided up and down on Cory's
wondrous organ, searching, seeking every nerve ending, and savouring the
indescribable taste that filled his very soul.
Cory began tensing as his semen, heated beyond endurance, began rising,
slowly boiling upward until it gushed forward, filling Nathan's mouth with
the delectable cream, stream after stream of it pulsing outward as Cory
thrust forward, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over him, carrying him
to the far shore and back again. When the last, final, jewel of cum had
been lovingly licked and sucked from him, Cory slowly withdrew from
Nathan's mouth. He sat down beside Nathan and they embraced. Their lips,
warm and moist, met. Their hands explored warm flesh, from time to time
reaching down to fondle their flaccid cocks.
Nathan all but purred with pleasure as Cory's tongue explored his neck and
throat, his lips lingering in the small hollow of his shoulder. He pulled
away from Cory's worshiping lips, leaned forward and began to nuzzle and
lick Cory's chest, nipping at the hard nipples, sucking softly as his mouth
traveled downward, murmuring almost prayerfully as his lips found Cory's
treasure trail. For Cory, Nathan's adoration was almost embarrassing. He
had at first thought that their lovemaking would be a pleasant way to spend
part of a lazy Sunday afternoon, a one off, probably never to be
repeated. But Nathan's intensity was beyond belief. His lust was
intoxicating. Still, Cory realized, the berthing area of a USN Sea Cadet
cutter was not the place to continue. He pulled away reluctantly. "Nathan,
we have to stop now," he murmured gently.
"Why? I want you, Cory. Please, stay. Please?" Nathan begged.
Cory kissed Nathan's eager lips. "I want to, but Nathan, look where we
are. There's no telling who might just literally drop in." He
smiled. "Another time, another place."
"No!" Nathan cried as Cory stood up. He took Cory's hand. "I know another
place. A place where no one will ever come into." He led Cory from the
berth deck and down a short corridor that ended at a closed door.
Cory read the brass plate affixed to the door. "Are you kidding?" he asked,
laughing. "The Commanding Officer's cabin?"
Nathan returned the grin. "Why not. No one ever comes here unless he calls
for them, and he's in Comox at some party or other and he won't be back
until at least midnight. It's private, and we can be alone." He ran his
finger down Cory's chest and gently stroked his nipples, causing them to
harden. "Please, Cory, please stay? He opened the door and stood aside.
Cory ran his hand over Nathan's semi-hard dick, smiled, and entered the
cabin.
******
In the Wardroom The Gunner listened to the chatter as the drinks were
passed and the war stories were told. He could hear Father's booming voice
as he related an experience in the South China Sea to Chief Lascelles. From
another corner of the room drifted the well-modulated voice of
Mrs. Commanding Officer as she and Mrs. Lascelles compared notes on the
struggle one faced when one's husband served in the military.
A loud laugh broke The Gunner's concentration as Andy and Kyle told
carefully expurgated stories of the sailing trip to the unlucky
stay-at-homes, Dave Eddy and No H. He helped himself to a drink and turned
to stare out of the large window that overlooked the harbour and, because
of the curve of the Spit, the Dockyard Jetty. In the distance he could see
one of the cadets - from the shining blond hair and slim build it looked
like Cory - squaring away one of the whalers as he talked to an equally
trim young man who was standing on the jetty. As he watched The Gunner saw
Cory moving slowly backward. His eyes widened when he realized that the
goofy thing was heading right for the . . . He raised his hand and started,
stifling his natural reaction to shout a warning.
"Has something happened?" The Gunner reluctantly turned to see Doc crossing
the room. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"
The Gunner returned his seaman's eye to the jetty where he saw Cory
clambering out the water and into the whaler, assisted by the other young
man. Doc's gaze followed The Gunner's and together they watched the two
boys walk down the jetty and board the USNSC cutter. The Gunner let out a
long breath of relieved air. "Cory managed to fall into the harbour."
Doc squinted his eyes. "And also managed to get out of the harbour." He
sipped his drink and then pointed his finger. "And he is now going down
into the cutter. All is well."
"Yes," replied The Gunner. He heard a small commotion as The Phantom,
finished with helping unload the small boats, came into the Wardroom with
Wally Higman. The Phantom saw The Gunner and smiled shyly. He would have
gone to stand beside the man he loved but his mother's voice called him to
come and sit with her. Reluctantly he did as bidden.
Doc saw the look that came over The Gunner's face. "Come and sit with an
old man," he asked quietly, leading The Gunner to the sofa against the far
wall. When they were comfortably seated he looked at The Gunner. "Stephen,
no matter how hard you try you cannot protect them, look after them, all of
the time."
"I wasn't . . ." The Gunner began to protest.
"Yes, you were," returned Doc with a slight shake of his head. "Not that I
blame you. We all do it. As a father I can tell you that I still try to do
it. Not always successfully." He chuckled ruefully. "My sons resent me for
it so I pretend to let them live their lives accordingly to their lights."
"Let them make their own mistakes and be around to help put everything back
together again?" The Gunner shook his head. "While we were away I had a
long talk with the Twins. I suppose in a way I tried to make them
understand that they were very soon to leave the world of boys and enter
the world of men."
"Now that sounds decidedly Kiplingesque." Doc thought a moment. "I seem to
recall one of Kipling's works that ends with 'but men in a world of
men'. England's Answer, I believe."
"Yes. I quoted it to the Twins."
Doc laughed. "Well, then, you do understand, a little." He gently patted
The Gunner's knee. "Your job, one of them, is to lead these boys down the
path that will, eventually, take them into a world of men. I think you've
done that. You took fourteen boys out in two whalers and came back with
fourteen young men." His eyes twinkled as he added slyly, "And you didn't
even get paid for it."
The Gunner looked startled and then recovered. "I won't ask who told you."
Doc waved away The Gunner's mild sarcasm. "I have known Frank Stockman for
many years." His face sobered. "Command is a very lonely position,
Stephen. You must take your own counsel and you must never show
favouritism. You cannot have close friends because they all too often have
a tendency to use that friendship to their advantage. The Commanding
Officer talks to me because I am of his generation; I know how he thinks,
he knows how I think. We both thought that your speech was a bit over the
top . . ." He snorted. "Frank Stockman on half-pay, indeed!"
"Well, I had to say something," replied The Gunner weakly. "The man's son
had just been assaulted." His face fell. "Doc, I know that what I did to
Farnsworth was wrong. I can live with it. There is one thing, though, that
has been bothering me."
"And that is?"
"I am not so sure that the whole incident was not an accident. I should
hate to think that I lost my temper when . . ."
"Rubbish!" snapped Doc angrily. He turned and faced The Gunner, his finger
wagging. "Now you listen to me, Stephen. Nigel Farnsworth is a rat! When I
think of that . . . creature . . . being allowed to take a commission I
want to burn mine!"
"Doc, Nigel being a rat, and in that I agree with you, is not the point. I
assaulted him. I lost my temper."
"All right, you lost your temper," agreed Doc with deceptive calm. "What
you seem not to recognize is that you went to the defence of one of your
charges. You went to the defence of a basically helpless boy - for whom you
care a great deal, and don't bother to deny it - and you protected him."
His bony finger suddenly stabbed The Gunner in the chest. "And that, you
big twit, is what you were supposed to do!"
"I was?" asked The Gunner, surprised at Doc's outburst.
"Yes, damn it!" Doc scowled and his brows lowered. "You can't know what I
know about that proven prick!" Several heads turned and Doc lowered his
voice. "Stephen, Nigel Farnsworth's very presence here was prejudicial to
good order and discipline! Sooner or later he would have done something
that would have caused a better man, or boy, a world of trouble. I can say
that because I happen to know that the only reason Farnsworth joined the
Sea Cadets was to further his own petty ambitions. He was using the system,
the Cadets, the boys, to his advantage. He wasn't here to serve the boys,
as you are, as Kyle, and Andy, as all the others are. The only reason he
came here was to add a nice little section to his curriculum vitae."
"I had figured that out for myself," replied The Gunner, his words low and
tinged with loathing. "I've met more than a few of his kind."
"As have I," returned Doc hotly. "The ass-lickers and the boot polishers,
the Captains and Admirals who go to sea by boating on Dow's Lake!" He
almost spat the words. "They abound, Stephen, and we learn to live with
them because we have to."
"We don't have to like it!" snapped The Gunner.
"No, and most of the time we can do nothing about it. You went to Phantom's
defence and in so doing you acted admirably in the defence of the cadets,
the Sea Cadets, and the Navy! You set an example, a far better example for
the boys than Nigel did! He showed them a shallow, insincere man who could
not have cared less about them! He proved to them all the rumours and
opinions that they have about officers!"
"I am not an officer," The Gunner pointed out softly.
"And why not?" Doc was livid. "You would make a damned fine officer!"
"Doc . . ."
"Shut up! I've seen them all, and I don't like what I see! Oh, not here,
not now that you quite rightly thumped Nigel and he slunk away, but
elsewhere." Doc took a deep breath. "Stephen, you are a man of honesty, and
integrity. You care about your job and you take to heart the responsibility
that goes with your job. You don't think about yourself, or what you can
gain by being here, which is what Nigel did. You think of the boys, and
what impact you can have on their lives, on how you can teach them to be
better men. You are also stubborn and pig-headed when it comes to your
feelings of what is right and what is wrong. It is a measure of your
honesty that you feel guilty about what you did to a man who is not fit to
be in the same room with you, a man who, in the fullness of time, would
have wreaked irreparable harm to something we both love. It is a measure of
your integrity, your sense of duty, that you were put in charge of the
sailing expedition!" He saw the stunned look on The Gunner's face.
"You were in charge because The Commanding Officer trusts you and trusted
you to set an example for young St. Vincent and Ensign Berg. After Nigel's
antics someone had to teach the junior officers, someone had to set the
right examples, and that someone was you!" He squared his shoulders. "So
please, spare me your blathering about feeling guilty about something you
had no control over! You reacted to a situation that Nigel, whether by
accident or design, caused! Forget it! It does not matter! It does not
matter because now the cadets know that there is someone there for them,
there is someone who will risk his career for them! You rebuilt the altar,
Stephen, and in doing that you exonerated yourself. You committed a minor
sin and have been forgiven it. God I need drink!"
******
Andy had overheard much of Doc's outburst, as had Number One and Kyle. He
looked at The Gunner and Doc as they walked to the drinks table and poured
themselves large drinks. Then he looked at Number One. "Doc is right, you
know." He looked into his glass, as if trying to find an answer to a
question that had been bothering him. "But Nigel did not strike me as a
forgiving man. Has anyone considered that?"
Number One nodded. "Andy, whilst you and the others were away playing the
Sea Cadet version of Cowboys and Red Indians, certain actions were
taken. Tomorrow you and Kyle will be taken to Base where you will give a
deposition to the Base Legal Officer. We shall try to keep the boys out of
it, but if we have to, they will also give depositions."
A worried look crossed Kyle's face. "So there will be charges!"
Number One shook his head. "If there are, they will not be against The
Gunner." He gave each of the men a strange look and then said
enigmatically, "Nigel Farnsworth, should he be fool enough to make more of
this little incident, will learn that there are powerful forces in this
world, forces of which he has no knowledge, and forces that look with
favour on a certain Leading Gunner." With that Number One nodded briskly
and joined Doc and The Gunner at the drinks table.
"Now what in the hell is that supposed to mean?" asked Kyle when Number One
was safely out of earshot.
"I'm buggered if I know," declared Andy. "Hell, I'm still trying to figure
out what Doc meant when he said that The Gunner had rebuilt the altar!"
"Oh, that! That is a reference to Kipling's poem The Song of the Old
Guard." Kyle saw the uncomprehending look on Andy's face. "Jesus, didn't
they teach you anything in school?"
"Of course they did. Just not Kipling!"
"Well, my ignorant man, the poem's premise is that no matter how down
things are, or how bad things become, the Old Guard is always with us, and
sooner or later the Old Guard will rise to the fore again. 'A common people
strove in vain to shame us unto toil, but they are spent and we remain, And
we shall share the spoil.' He snickered. "Of course Kipling was nattering
about the reform of the British Army after the Boer War. He was trying, I
think, to get across the idea that while there are people who will try to
tear down the old ways, the old values, there is always the Old Guard,
uncompromising and unafraid, which will always be there to come to the
defence of the Realm because it is the right thing, the only thing to do."
"Or, like a spider waiting for the fly, bide their time until the ones who
brought them down stumble into a web of their own making."
"Perhaps," agreed Kyle. "Or the members of the Old Guard could just be the
only people who have any integrity and honour, the . . . power, to restore
the old values and ways."
"The Old Guard dies, but it never surrenders?"
Kyle shook his head. "The Old Guard never dies, never surrenders and is
always with us. It might be down but all it takes is someone to rebuild the
altar of their faith. And then . . . 'Our doorways that, in time of fear,
we opened overwide, Shall softly close from year to year, Till all be
purified.'" He thought a moment. "The stanza ends with, 'The Lord shall
winnow the Lord's preferred - - And, Hey then up go we!'"
"So, the Old Guard will look after The Gunner, then?"
Kyle nodded. "The Gunner restored the faith of the cadets in us, in all of
us. The Old Guard will look after him."
"So, that is what Doc meant, then?"
"Yes, I think so. The Gunner rebuilt the altar and he will always, until
Armageddon breaks his sleep, strictly keep the integrity of the Ark."
They did not hear Number One return or see him stand behind them as they
talked. Kyle felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Number One looked at
him. "You understand then?" He squeezed Kyle's shoulder. "Our altars which
the heathen brake, Shall rankly smoke anew, And anise, mint and cummin take
their dread and sovereign due."
Kyle nodded. And looked at Andy in a new light. He had not - then -
understood why the American Marine had saluted the White Ensign with such
solemn dignity. Now, as he remembered Kipling's words calling the members
of the Old Guard to prepare the candlesticks and bells, the scarlet, brass
and badger's hair, all the symbols wherein their honour dwelt. To many the
White Ensign was simply an old flag, a piece of coloured bunting. But not
to The Gunner, for in that Flag his honour dwelt and Andy's salute had been
the mark of one warrior saluting the talisman of another. Now Kyle
understood.
******
The cabin was small, and economically furnished and arranged. Its most
commanding feature was the Captain's bed, which was much wider than the
normal berths usually fitted. The bed was, as close as Cory could judge,
four feet wide and over six feet long. It looked very comfortable. Just
forward, beside the small fitted bed table another door, open, revealed a
small, private head.
Nathan turned the lock in the door and pulled Cory down on the bed. "See?
It's very private." He kissed Cory's forehead, then his eyes, then his
nose. "You will stay, won't you?" Cory smiled and nodded slowly. Nathan's
intensity was overpowering
They lay together, bodies close, their arms and legs entangled, groins
grinding as their lust rose. Nathan positioned Cory on his stomach, spread
his legs and knelt between them. His tongue, long, very warm, and very
moist, began a journey that sent shivers of overwhelming joy through Cory's
willing body. Nathan licked his way up Cory's spine, then down again. His
tongue softly explored the twin, curving golden orbs of satin skin that
formed Cory's ass.
Cory felt Nathan's fingers caress his small, puckered hole, penetrate, then
withdraw, replaced by the pointed hardness of Nathan's awesome, talented
tongue. Cory arched and moaned as Nathan enthusiastically licked and sucked
his love hole, transporting him into the realm of Nirvana. He began
thrusting his hips, sliding the underside of his enraged boner across the
smooth surface of the blanket covering the bed.
Nathan snuffled and licked, stopping when he heard Cory's heavy panting. He
wanted Cory in a way that he had never wanted another boy, and he wanted
Cory to experience a life-shattering orgasm. But not just yet. He moved and
lay beside Cory, his hands slowly caressing Cory's warm, perfectly shaped
melon butt. His mouth found Cory's ear and he began nipping and licking,
breathing slowly into it. The he whispered the question that Cory's was
waiting for. "Cory, can we do it? Can I make love to you? Please?" Nathan
murmured.
Cory nodded. His half-closed eyes looked down at Nathan's firm, thick
erection.
"Do you have any Vaseline?"
"Wait one minute." Nathan jumped from the bed and while he rummaged in the
Captain's medicine cabinet for something to use as a lubricant, Cory
positioned himself, pulling the pillow out from under his head and placing
it beneath his hips. He spread his legs and pulled his knees back as far as
he could. He was too far gone in rapture to care where he was. He wanted to
feel Nathan in him. "Found some," Nathan gasped as he crawled between
Cory's legs. He massaged a generous portion of Vaseline onto his cerise and
tan erection. Then he leaned forward to lick and suck Cory's flaming cock
as his finger slowly lubed Cory's entry. Nathan asked if he should use
anything. "There are some rubbers in the cabinet if you want me to use
one. I'll do anything you want."
Cory shook his head. "I don't like them. Just do it, Nathan, do it now," he
groaned.
Nathan, on his knees, moved forward, bending his blood-flooded organ down,
moving slowly until his engorged helmet touched Cory's gaping hole. As he
pushed into him, Cory pushed back, spreading his arms, waiting to embrace
his lover. Nathan groaned as a surge of electricity passed through his
dick and set his body to trembling. He felt his stomach and pubes touching
the heated warmth of Cory's body and he began to thrust slowly,
withdrawing, then thrusting forward, the head of his penis brushing against
Cory's sensitive prostate and sending him into an Elysium of riotous
sensuality. Cory's mind reeled as Nathan's hardness ravaged the nerve
endings and fabric of his tunnel. He bit his lip trying to stifle the
screams of pleasure that his mind produced but his voice could not make.
As Nathan increased his thrusting, his cock on fire with lust, each
movement an ever-ascending crescendo of ecstasy, he moaned loudly, grunting
as he thrust, muttering louder and louder, as his orgasm threatened to
overwhelm his entire body. "Aaagh, fuck, man, Ungh, God, man, this is sooo
good." he moaned.
Nathan began thrusting deeper, growling through clenched teeth, "Ungh,
Jesus, you're tight. Ungh, aaagh, fuck, yeah, take it, take my big dick."
He began breathing heavily, straining to prolong the pleasure that raged
through his body, clenching his ass muscles as his dick found the mound of
pleasure deep within Cory's flushed body.
Cory pushed back to meet Nathan's thrusts, grunting as wave after wave of
indescribable ecstasy crashed with titanic force, rippling outward from
crotch. Nathan, completely lost in lust, fell forward, his lips locked
against Cory's as he thrust strongly. He mumbled and growled low with each
massive thrust. "AAAGH, yeah, fuck, take it!" he commanded through half
open lips. "Take it all, baby . . . take my dick!" He pulled back his head
and buried it in the valley of Cory's shoulder, growling, "Feel my dick in
you, sweet cheeks . . . aaagh." As his orgasm began building Nathan's hips
moved faster and faster. "Fuck me . . .Oh, yeah, fuck, fuck, it feels sooo
good." He could feel his balls tightening and the intense pleasure building
deep within him. He was close, sooo close. "That's it, bitch," he
groaned. "Gonna fill your hole with my cum. Take it all, yeah, take it
bitch. Squeeze my dick with your ass, yeah, come on, baby, come on, make me
cum up your ass, bitch."
Nathan threw his head back and closed his eyes as the first harbinger of
his orgasm trembled through him. He was so engrossed as the tidal wave of
pleasure began crashing over him that he did not see Cory draw back his
legs until his knees almost touched his chest. He did not see that Cory's
face was suffused with anger, all feelings of desire gone.
Cory's feet kicked forward and Nathan flew off of him, crashing into the
after bulkhead and sending the wood framed binnacle fixed to the bulkhead
crashing to the deck. Nathan lay there, stunned, his magnificent set of
upper deck fittings rapidly becoming nothing more than a piece of
shrivelled, wrinkled, flesh between his legs, a long, cloudy rope of semen
trailing from his shell-shocked helmet. "What the fuck did you do that
for?" he screamed, struggling to get up.
As swift as an enraged cat Cory pushed Nathan back, his strong arms pinning
Nathan to the bulkhead. Cory leaned forward, his face an inch from
Nathan's. "I am many things, you cocksucker, but I am not your bitch!" he
hissed dangerously. "What the fuck's the matter with you?" demanded Nathan
hotly. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just cum talk. A lot of guys are
into it. A lot of guys like it!" His face was twisted into a mask of
fury. "They like it!"
"I am not a lot of guys," replied Cory coldly. He climbed off the bed and
made for the door.
"Can't take a man's dick?" Nathan snorted. "Fucking faggot cocksucker!"
Cory's fist crashed against Nathan's jaw. Nathan was so stunned at the
force of the blow that he could barely function. Cory glared icily at him,
his blue eyes on fire. "You would know about cocksucking," he snarled
venomously. "You were on my cock quick enough."
"Well, just fuck off, then!" snapped Nathan, almost mad with rage. "Who
needs you, anyway? Fucking faggot butt fucker." He struggled to his
feet. "Just who the fuck do you think you are?"
Cory's hand flashed out and seized Nathan's neck. "Who do I think I am?" he
whispered dangerously. "I don't think, I know, Nathan, I know exactly who I
am and what I am!" He squeezed Nathan's neck ever so slightly. "I am Cory
Albert Victor William Louis Francis Leveson-Arundel. I am a Cadet Petty
Officer in the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets. I am a student at St. George's
College." He began to slowly push Nathan downward to the deck. "I am many
things, Nathan, but I am not now, nor will I ever be, your baby, your sweet
cheeks or your BITCH!" He reached down and shoved his soft cock and heavy
balls in Nathan's face. "You see these?" he asked heavily. "These are the
mark of a man." He released Nathan and stepped through the door. Then he
looked back, his eyes blazing. "Something you will never be!"
******
Mark and Tony were walking down the jetty when they saw Cory storm up the
ladder from the after berthing deck. He brushed passed them; so incoherent
with rage that he did not see them.
"Do we really want to go down there and find out exactly what Cory was
doing on board the cutter?" asked Tony. Up until now he had been in a very
good mood. They had helped Tyler and Val and, with a promise to return
shortly, had decided to return to the cutter to pick up some vital supplies
which both had stashed in their lockers. As they passed the Drill Shed they
had slipped inside and had a quick cuddle. A very quick, but very nice
cuddle which, with the rest of the crew ashore; they had hoped to be able
to continue on board their boat.
Mark watched as Cory disappeared around the corner of the Rope Walk. He
sighed heavily. "Well, Tony, if we want those jugs we have to go down
below. And if we go down below we'll more than likely find out what Cory
was doing on board."
Somewhat reluctantly they climbed on board the cutter and descended the
ladder leading to the berthing deck. They found Nathan, naked and
despondent, sitting on the deck, his head in his hands, his elbows on his
knees.
"Well, well, well," chortled Mark. "And what do we have here? Could it be
that our resident anti-Semite has come to grief?" He knelt down and poked
Nathan's forehead. "What happened, Berman, somebody object to you trying to
burn a cross on the parade square?"
"I am not an anti-Semite," protested Nathan hotly.
"Balls!" retorted Tony calmly. "Old 'Nathan-I-am-not-a-Jew' Berman not an
anti-Semite?" His voice was heavy with disdain. "Give me a break, Berman!
If the Hitler Youth was still around you'd be prancing around Seattle in
short pants and a brown shirt."
"Fuck off, Tony. Just fuck off, go away, and leave me alone," Nathan
groaned painfully.
"That's Chief Petty Officer Valpone to you, asshole."
"And Master Chief Mark van Beck," put in Mark with a scowl.
Nathan raised his head and looked at them. His eyes were red, and there was
a large bruise forming on his chin. "Will you please, please, just go away
and leave me alone?" he begged.
The two boys looked at Nathan, shrugged, and walked to their lockers. Mark
had a jug of rye hidden away, more loot from his father's drinks
cabinet. Tony had brought along a bottle of his father's homemade grappa
and wanted to compare it with the 'Italian champagne' Val's father made.
Nathan pulled himself together and stood up. His back was aching and his
jaw felt as if it had been shattered. He walked to his locker, opened it,
and looked at his reflection in the small mirror affixed to the door,
gingerly examining his face.
Tony nudged Mark, who looked over and grinned. "A bruise on his chin! And,
dare I say it? A hickey on his dickey?" laughed Mark.
"Good old Nathan. Never met a fist that didn't hit him," guffawed Tony.
Nathan snatched a pair of boxers from his locker and angrily pulled them
on. He slammed the door of his locker closed and stomped to the mess table,
sat down and buried his face in his hands.
Mark and Tony sat down on the opposite side of the table, facing
Nathan. "Methinks that Mercer Island's answer to Baldur von Schirach tried
to put the moves on a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed, Canadian laddy,"
opined Mark, grinning broadly.
"You can't mean that slim, not bad looking young lad who just went down the
jetty muttering about some hairy-assed, no good Yankee?" asked Tony archly.
"He's beautiful. And it's not like that!" moaned Nathan. "Please, Mark,
Tony, it wasn't like that."
"A classic case of coitus interruptus, I think," snickered Mark unkindly.
"More like get that biggus dickus outa meus, if you ask me," returned Tony
crudely.
"Tony, how unkind." Mark leaned forward and tapped Nathan on the top of his
head, getting his attention. "So, tell us, hotshot, you tried to put the
moves on Cory and got clocked for your effort, didn't you?" he asked,
laughing.
"It wasn't like that at all," whined Nathan.
"Bullshit." said Mark slowly. "We see Cory storming off, and come down
below to find you with your dick hanging low, looking like somebody fucked
your pet sheep, and nothing happened?" He grinned at Nathan. "But, no
matter, because this time, Nathan, my dear, you pissed off the wrong
guy. All your daddy's money, all your Uncle Nate's political friends can't
help you now."
Tony nodded sagely. "Nathan, Cory Arundel is one of the odds on favourites
around here. He sits at the right hand of Gunner Winslow. You piss off Cory
you piss off the Gunner, and, boy, if you piss off The Gunner . . ." He
grinned at Mark. "You piss off God!"
Nathan moaned.
"Cory also has a twin brother," continued Mark. "He's bigger, and meaner,
and he has a big fist when it comes to his little brother. He's very
protective, I hear." Mark stood up and looked at Tony, his eyes bright with
amusement. "His name is Todd and he sits at the left hand of God."
Tony joined Mark by their lockers. They took their bottles out and put them
into Mark's black leather carryall bag. "You have fucked up big time,
Nathan," said Mark, not unkindly. "You are in deep, deep shit when Todd
hears about this."
"Not to mention the other cadets in the Gunroom." Tony walked towards the
ladder.
"We're going to a party. You're not invited," said Mark coldly. "Don't wait
up."
As they started to climb the ladder to the deck Nathan spoke. "Will he be
there?"
"Who?" asked Mark. He did not particularly care for Nathan and was enjoying
his discomfiture.
"Him." Nathan looked at them imploringly.
"I think he means Cory." Tony shook his head, stifling his laughter.
"Oh, Cory. Yeah, he'll be there. He lives there. Shall I give him your
regards and invite him back for a rematch?" asked Mark.
Tony chuckled, and went on deck.
Nathan stood up and walked to his bunk. He climbed in and put his arm
across his eyes. "Never mind," he all but sobbed.
Mark shrugged and joined Tony on deck. As they walked down the jetty Mark
turned to Tony. "You know, for a guy who just got punched out, Nathan sure
is acting awfully goofy about the guy who did the punching."
"That's because he's been hit with the thunderbolt," replied Tony.
"Fuck off, Tony. Nathan got hit with Cory's fist."
"And with the thunderbolt," insisted Tony. "Trust me, I know. I'm Italian,
and we always know when a guy get hits with the thunderbolt," he finished
gravely. Then he laughed uproariously. "Nathan is in love with Cory. He
can't help it. He's been hit with the thunderbolt." Tony was choking with
laughter.
"Poor Cory." Mark shook his head, and then joined Tony in laughing.
******
Cory stomped around the Spit for the better part of an hour, avoiding the
other cadets, bringing his emotions under control. He had never been
angrier in his life. He hated being treated like a piece of meat; hated
being called baby, or sweet cheeks, or bitch. He had hated it ever since he
was eight years old. At the same time he hated himself for feeling the way
he felt about Nathan who, unknowingly, had been the first boy, except for
Todd, to ever turn him on like that.
He wandered by the swimming beach, which was crowded with the new crop of
General Training Cadets, Sea puppies, American cadets, and Ray, with Sandro
and the Makee-Learns. He decided to go back to the Gunroom and as he passed
the Wardroom he found The Phantom sitting quietly outside, smoking a
cigarette. The Phantom smiled a guilty smile as he saw Cory. "You won't
tell, will you?" he asked when Cory sat down beside him.
"No. If you want to kill yourself with those things, go ahead." Cory
grinned at The Phantom. "Hiding out?" he asked.
"I have to. My folks don't like me smoking." He took a drag of his
cigarette and looked fondly at Cory. "We had a good trip and I'm glad I
went."
"Me too." Cory looked at the Phantom and saw a true friend. "You're an okay
guy, Phantom."
"Thanks, Cory, I'm all trembly, now," replied The Phantom flippantly.
"Phantom, I mean it," said Cory, a serious look on his face. No civilian I
know would have done what you've done."
"I haven't done anything except run around naked for two days," replied The
Phantom.
Cory cocked an eyebrow. "And Harry?"
"What about Harry?" The Phantom squirmed uneasily. Could Cory know that he
had talked to Harry?
Cory knew. "I don't know what it was you said to Harry, but I know that you
left the Mess Hall and went to the Gunroom. I also know that Harry was full
of piss and vinegar and eating chocolate cake not an hour after you left
the Gunroom." He shrugged knowingly. "I also know that you managed to get
Harry back on track, which is more than the rest of us were able to do."
"I just talked to him," replied The Phantom. He was terribly
embarrassed. He hated having his good deeds exposed to the light of day.
"Have it your way," said Cory. He sensed The Phantom's embarrassment and
would not pursue the subject. He also would not forget. "Well, at least we
can both say that we sailed together. I hope we can do it again."
The Phantom laughed. "Only if you don't strip me naked in the Ship's
Office!" Cory joined in The Phantom's laughter. "That was just a way to
loosen you up. You were always much too serious."
"Another hope crushed," replied The Phantom with a twinkle in his eye. "All
the time I thought you just wanted to get a look at my parts!"
Cory grinned at the memory of The Phantom standing naked in the middle of
the Ship's Office. "Well, I have to admit that you do have a nice set of
parts."
The Phantom giggled. "Cory, aren't you going straight?"
Cory shook his head and laughed ruefully. Then he looked directly at his
friend. "Phantom, I'm queer. I've been queer for a long time." He
shrugged. "Hiding in the closet was Todd's idea, not mine.
"Cory, please, I hate that word." The Phantom reached out and squeezed
Cory's arm. "You are one of the nicest, sweetest guys I know. Don't
belittle yourself, please."
"I'm not," insisted Cory. "I'm only speaking the truth." He saw that The
Phantom was serious. "Is it alright if I call myself gay?"
"Cory, you can call yourself whatever you like. Just don't belittle
yourself or put yourself down for something you can't help." He wondered
what had happened to put Cory in such a depressed mood. "It doesn't matter
to me, Cory, if you're gay or not gay. I still like you and I'd sail with
you."
Cory reached out and patted The Phantom's hand. "I know that, Phantom. It's
just that sometimes I wish that I wasn't . . ." He brightened, realizing
that The Phantom was serious. "But I am what I am, and that's the end of
it."
"Good, because I like you just the way you are."
"Be careful, Phantom, remember what I said about your parts."
"I don't have to be careful. I've seen you in action. You don't go around
advertising and you don't try to jump every guy that takes your fancy. At
least I don't think you do," replied The Phantom.
Cory laughed. "I don't. At least . . ." he shut up abruptly. "Anyway, you
don't have to worry. You're my friend, and you're straight, so you are safe
in the arms of Jesus."
"What's the matter with me?" The Phantom liked Cory a lot. "I thought you
said I have a nice set of parts. Not up to your standards?"
Cory was suddenly solemn. "Phantom, you more than meet my standards. You're
not bad looking, you have a good body, which, God knows, after two days of
seeing you naked, I should know, and you're circumcised."
"What has that got to do with it? If you're gay, what does it matter?" The
Phantom was more than a little curious, and more than a little confused.
Cory looked into the distance. He had an urge to talk to someone. He could
not tell Todd what had happened. He took a deep breath. "When you said that
I don't jump every guy I see, that was only partly true."
The Phantom looked at Cory. "Something happened, didn't it?"
Cory nodded. "I met a guy today . . ."
"One of The Americans." The Phantom was not asking a question.
Cory stared at his friend. "How did you . . .?"
"Cory, you've been here what, a month? In all that time you haven't come on
to anybody, and from what I saw when we were away there is a shit locker
full of guys who meet your standards. You also said that you had 'met a
guy' and since the only place you've been has been the Dockyard and, since
the only ones swanning about were some of the American cadets, it doesn't
take much to figure out who you met. You met an American cadet and you
. . ."
"Yes, Phantom, I met an American cadet and we did."
Seeing the look on Cory's face The Phantom held up his hand. "I'm not being
judgemental, Cory. I am just stating the obvious." He could feel that
something had happened to his friend. "Just as it's obvious that you had a
bad experience with him," he finished quietly.
Cory nodded, "We, well, you know. We were making love . . ." He stood up
abruptly and stretched. "It was nice, I mean, it was really nice. Then he
called me some names. I can't stand that."
The Phantom stood and put his arm around Cory's shoulder. "Cory, let's walk
a little. If you want to talk, go ahead. I'm your friend. I'll listen."
Cory smiled softly and put his arm around The Phantom. He hugged The
Phantom and said, I think I'd like to walk." As they strolled towards the
Canteen at a slow pace he told The Phantom everything.
"He called you a bitch?" The Phantom demanded to know when Cory finished
speaking. Cory did not know it, but he had found a soul mate in The
Phantom. "I wouldn't have liked that at all. The bastard!" he spat.
"You wouldn't?"
"No. I mean, well, I really don't know about, uh, guys," replied The
Phantom hurriedly. He had no desire to make Cory think that he was anything
but as straight as an arrow. "I mean, if I was in that situation I wouldn't
like it. I mean, well, fuck Cory, if a guy is doing a guy, he's doing a
guy, not a girl." Cory laughed. "Phantom, there's hope for you yet. Let's
sit down." He motioned toward one of the benches outside of the Canteen.
"You can always dream, Tiger," sniggered The Phantom. Cory's jaw
dropped. "You heard about that? Shit, is nothing a secret around here?"
The Phantom chucked Cory under the chin. "Well, you guys have nobody to
blame but yourselves. You all yak on about everything. All I do is listen."
Cory shook his head with feigned indignation. "Which will teach me to keep
my big mouth shut when you're around." Then he turned serious
again. "Phantom, since nothing is secret from you, I might as well tell you
the rest."
"What rest?"
Cory sighed. "Todd says I should see a doctor about my problem."
"Your problem?"
Cory looked directly at The Phantom. "Being gay is not a problem, in case
that's what you're thinking. I accept that, and I am quite comfortable with
it, despite having misgivings from time to time. My problem is that, well,
I can't do anything with guys who aren't circumcised. I get sick to my
stomach. When I see a guy I'd like to be with, I just have to find out if
he is or he isn't."
"Is that why you groped The Gunner?"
Cory nodded. "I would have groped you, given half a chance. And please
don't tell me in my dreams, Tiger."
"Okay, I won't. You have the floor. Fill your boots." Phantom grinned. "And
you knew I was circumcised. I told you after that fight with Little Big
Man."
Cory thought a moment. "I still would have groped you." He grinned and
punched The Phantom's arm. "Just kidding."
"So, this guy you met, this American . . .he . . . wasn't?" asked The
Phantom as he returned Cory's grin and punch.
"No, he was. And very nice too." Cory sighed wistfully. "It was just that
he started calling me those fucking names."
"Which neither one of us like. I don't know about you, but, like I said, if
you're doing it with a guy, you're doing it with a guy." He looked
thoughtful. "But that is not what you're talking about, is it?"
Cory stared into the gathering darkness. "When we were eight, one of my
father's law clerks, we called him Uncle Mac, for Christ's sake, tried to
molest me. He took Todd and me to Stanley Park, deep into the woods
there. He said he wanted to show us something special."
The Phantom's heart skipped a beat. "Cory, he didn't . . ."
"He did," replied Cory softly. "At least he was trying hard and if Todd
hadn't . . . we were in the woods and Todd was off chasing a butterfly, or
looking at bugs, I forget which, and I was alone with Uncle Mac and . . ."
Cory shook his head, clearing it. "What did either of us know? The guy had
been on us like ugly on an ape all day, rubbing us a little bit, on our
backs, first Todd, then me. He bought us popcorn, and ice cream and when we
hugged him to thank him he rubbed our bums and told us were real pretty
boys. Later on, when Todd was ahead of us on the path he took me into the
woods and told me that he wanted to show me something." Cory shuddered. "He
asked me if I had ever played with Todd's pecker - his name for it, not
mine - and of course, I didn't say anything. I mean, shit, Phantom I wasn't
going to tell him that Todd and I were playing with each other's peckers,
now was I?"
"I guess not, no."
"Well, I suppose he took my silence to mean that we had been playing with
each other so he said it was fun, and that everybody did it and that he
would play with my pecker if I would play with his."
"Jesus, Cory, that's sick. A grown man!" exploded The Phantom.
Cory did not seem to hear The Phantom's outburst "He pulled out this
. . . thing, and I mean a thing and it was . . ." He shuddered again and
hugged himself. With a slow, deliberate, almost faraway voice he forced
himself to continue on. "It was big, and red and purple, and the head was
all covered with skin, and it was dripping stuff. I'd never seen anything
like it. I mean, I'd seen Todd, and, well, we were playing around together
so I knew what a boner was supposed to look like, but that thing." He
almost gagged on the words that followed. "I didn't know anything about
dicks so seeing all that skin was . . ."
Cory's body began to tremble. "Then he pulled his skin back, and, God,
Phantom, it was so gross and he moaned and swore and he began squirting out
all this white stuff." He closed his eyes, willing the image to leave his
brain. "I was eight, what did I know about a guy cumming? I was so scared I
just stood there, staring at it. Todd, thank God, he came back and saw what
was happening and he up and punched Uncle Mac in the balls, grabbed me by
the ass of my pants and we took off, with me screaming like a banshee. I
had nightmares for years afterward, and I wouldn't let any man near me. Not
my Dad, not my uncles, nobody. Just Todd. I wouldn't go to bed alone. I had
to sleep with Todd every night. We've been sleeping together ever since."
The Phantom embraced Cory, holding him close. "Ah, fuck, Cory. I'm so
sorry. If I could take the hurt away I . . ."
"You listened to me, and that helps." Cory smiled wanly. "You're the first
person outside of my family who knows what happened." He nodded and they
began walking back towards the Wardroom. "I'm fine now, I think," he said
presently. "I don't dislike guys who aren't circumcised. I just can't have
sex with them."
"I can't do anything but tell you how sorry I am, Cory, for what happened."
He could not tell his friend about his own feelings of revulsion when he
had first seen Sam's erection. He could also empathise with Cory over the
name-calling American because he remembered the name Sam had called him
when . . . or how he had reacted when Brian had . . . Admitting,
confessing, that he shared Cory's dislike would mean that he would have to
admit what he was, and that he could not do.
"I know you are. I'm dealing with it." Cory stopped in front of The
Wardroom. "I just . . . felt that you would understand why I have to know
about a guy, why sometimes, I get a little wacky." He felt very warm, and
comfortable being with The Phantom. "I shouldn't have groped The Gunner,
but I had to know."
"Because you're in love with him?"
Cory looked at The Phantom and saw the truth in the boy's eyes, a truth
that he could not deny. "Yes," he said slowly, and for the first time he
realized that he was not alone in his love for The Gunner. He regarded his
friend carefully and decided to remain silent. When The Phantom was ready
they would talk.
They stood in front of the Wardroom, listening to the muted laughter and
the tinkling of ice in glasses. Cory nodded toward the long, low
building. "It sounds like quite a party in there."
"It is," replied The Phantom. He grinned. "It's awfully boring, which is
why I snuck out for a butt!"
Cory chuckled. "There's a party in the Mess tonight. It won't be boring,
you can be sure of that and you can come if you like." He winked at The
Phantom. "You are a Chief, after all, and the Gunroom is now your Mess."
The Phantom grinned his thanks. "I wish I could, Cory, but my folks will
expect me to go home with them. I'd really like to go to the party but I
can't. I've been away two days and they're going to Regina to see my
brother graduate from the RCMP College. They leave on Wednesday."
"I'd really like you to come," said Cory seriously. " You could stay the
night. You could sleep with me."
"Is that an invitation?"
Cory waggled his eyebrows. "You can always dream, Tiger," he said as he
gave The Phantom's parts a gentle squeeze. Then he walked away into the
darkness.